But it is your mind, your sense for inbetween words and glimpses. Our understanding, never put a word to it, our twin like moments. None more worthy than when you, again, feel what I have not to say, had yet to say,

And there it goes, the glimpse, the short second, the moment of unity, one-ness, we both come from the same seed, clearly, distinctively, never obvious, but felt so dearly on this moment. There was this overlap. We were like day and night before, and still are, absolute disparity inside out, and yet so common all of a sudden.

Warming, home like, together, off of the dark wagon, I see myself in you. You move towards me, and I do, too. Reunion after seperate stages as can be,

And after soon three decades, there was closeness and a touchable, heartwarming opening.

We actually found a way to communicate, and you see how perspectives work and take in, and let live, and consider it a different truth. And after so many years of wanting to, of searching affiliation and mostly that hurtful emptiness between us, the big question mark, the unanswered yearnings of going a path together, there was a step we took together. Like it was easy. Like nothing has ever happened or been rejected. Like we never missed out.

Surprise, that we felt the same. Surprise, you saw and heard and encouraged me on what seems so difficult.

No surprise, you won’t let it get you, still.

Most relieved and gratified and lovable it made me feel. You standing behind me. The picture I’ve always wanted to be entitled to keep.

But to be the mirror?

In terms of advise, I’d join. In terms of predictability, I am just scared.

This caution, will I ever drop it? Push the cart and see where it runs to. Moving, moulding, taking part.

Will I reflect adequately?

~

It’s not our fault you gave up on yourself. It’s not our fault, you’re never happy. It’s never my fault, you didn’t stand up for yourself, that you play needless, yet you’ve never been. Scared to draw the curtain, then lift it, how will I ever learn to walk my wishes? It’s not our fault you’re another generation. We’ve learned to maintain health. We’ve learned to be reflective. We’d wish you let us in.

I know looking means fear to you, like so many other things do in your life. The longer you’ve concealed, the scarier.

In the order of appearance, I came to adapt your flaws. Your fear became mine and your disapproving or disinterestedness became my lack of self-awareness. What I could have done in this world.

Your ignorance became my ignorance towards myself, towards others and the possibilities we all are granted, not only the rich, not just the pretty, not merely the blessed ones.

You unwanting to change became me unknowing how to, deserving transformation, it became my inability to get untangled, kick free, not till today, but maybe next year…?

You’ve been alone for a long time now, and you tell me that’s how you want it. Your flow is perfected, expiration expected, surrounding adapted, made to your needs, grown to serve you, comfortable, accommodative, obliging. You accept no invader. The closest ones never too close. You’ve been alone for such a while now.

I say, there are things that help healing and most wounds can be mended. The bills yet not written, you don’t know how to pay. The trusted aside, never cared to let them, midriff breathing may come, but who am I to speak.

(So easy to blame without an inspecting look at the own actions taken or not taken.)

So small, so young we were too, once! Young and asking questions. Naive and delicate. Tender, innocent. The whole world lies to our feet, open. Nothing to fear, nothing owed, nothing ever wanted in return. Gentle though green, unheard and unspoken.

Our arms were full with what we held and treasured, still bending to pick up more along this way, it must have been clear it was physically impossible.

It was just output for you really, a technical equation, something you could calculate, something you relied and in the end depended on aswell. If not the gain you counted on, you turned away, not seen nor felt, cut off and shuttered and barred.

I know you never claimed to be an easy one to have around. Half the world was missing for you, most of the time, a symbol to cling to, a gesture to copy, an action to adore. Not that I ever envied you for your loss. Not that I cannot relate to hardship or hollowness or regulation or the need to control and keep in hand and never let go and having to be the one to arrange. Not that I ever stopped loving you.

But look, so small, so young we were too, once. Grown next to each other. Green but bluntly, gently wonderful.

It does look like the titles of my blog posts might have to be taken out of some great artist’s song lyrics. Well so I think, if it keeps me writing…

I was thinking driving today. We grew up together, not family but almost, shared culture, education and, most bonding, sticking points. You with your parents (not physical but that was the least we talked about) who made you grow up, with a mother who needed you more than she wanted you there, with 14 you have no idea of service, so you grew up to serve others, no strings attached, no questions asked, no offence ever taken.

We with our mothers so born into their decade, so enduring whats thrown at them, so never asking if there could be more. And in the end taking the freedom to end what they knew, but never with reflection or humor, instead silence and self-punishment for what, that’s a good question, I could not tell you.

We with our dreams so big and true and twinkling in all colours, at home in something like a health resort, and baby I could tell you these first steps hurt, never meant to realize, never meant to be written off what we thought might be possible, and there for anybody but us alone.

And still we’re here, back again like we’re still thirteen, a little more walked, a little more grown aswell, expanded but selective about who to share this laughter with, to share the real thing, to share what we both have and keep and love.

(“The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart.” ~Elisabeth Foley)

Most of us are trying to live up to expectations 24/7, be it your partners’, friends’, boss’ or – which appears to be the most terrifying option of all – your own ones. Every minute selfcensoring and withdrawing for the sake of living up to others’ expectations.

Around me I often hear that people need more of this or that (which could be chocolate doughnuts, the car key, finally a break to go to the toilet, the mobile phone you left on the kitchen table, though mostly they are time, the deserved dream job or money). But I hardly ever hear “actually, I have enough of everything for the moment, thanks”.

It makes me wonder why that is so, and it also makes the ability to feel satisfied very precious and desirable. Ability to feel satisfied could help to ease the expectation-torture we tend to put ourselves into. I really do adore the people I meet who UNAPOLOGETICALLY live their imperfect lives, and still thrive and shine from happiness:

No boyfriend at the time? – Then I dive into a new job and work on my career.

Shitty job but no option of change anywhere near? – Well, I focus on cherishing my social time with family, friends, partner even more and enjoy my free time with them. Start a new hobby or go to the gym…

There IS always something that is going at least alright. But instead of looking for the needle in the haystack (if it even is a needle and not a huge pole we are desperately trying to ignore) we are champions in not getting our minds off the nasty part. And not getting our minds off the expectations that once again we could not or even might not live up to. I probably am world champion in this discipline.

Did you wonder why I started writing a blog? It’s got nothing to do with spreading my not superior thoughts, it’s more that I hope that it could help me to write stuff down, out of my head, onto the virtual paper, and by that I might collect enough material to one day start writing a song. I felt like that for a long time, but I guess if you rise your expectations high enough, the only thing you can do in the end is curl up to a ball and hide under your bedcover. My mission with this blog: no pondering, no self-censoring (to an extend which is commonsensible on a public webpage) but trying to approach the state of being unapologetically alive.